A WellKept Secret
by RevSue
Summary: Clarisse and Joseph relive their first meeting while out with Mia and Charlotte. Time frame is between the movies ... CHALLENGE RESPONSE


_Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters since Princess Diaries 1 & 2, and its characters are the property of Disney, Buena Vista, and Meg Cabot. I make no money from this work of fiction. This song-fic is based on the lyrics from Conway Twitty's song, "Tight-Fittin' Jeans" – the story is in response to a challenge to use this song in a PD story._

A Well-Kept Secret

"Please, Grandma? PLEASE come with me?" Mia begged.

"Mia, I can't ..." Clarisse began, trying to look scandalized. Unfortunately, her interest had been piqued by Mia's description of the various bars. "Queens simply do NOT go bar-hopping!"

"No one else can come until tomorrow night, but I'm legal TONIGHT and I want to go so badly! And hardly anyone knows you here in San Francisco!" Mia's pleading continued.

"Your calendar is clear this evening, your Majesty," offered Charlotte, looking up from where she had been checking her clipboard notes.

"See?" Mia said triumphantly. "And Charlotte will come with us!"

"Oh, I didn't mean ..." Charlotte instantly tried to backpedal.

Joseph walked in at that moment. "Are you ready to return home, your highness?" he asked Mia politely.

"Joseph, you'll come too, won't you?" Mia turned on him.

"Come?" he asked suspiciously, his gaze going from Mia to Charlotte then lingering on Clarisse.

"Grandma and Charlotte are going bar-hopping with me tonight to celebrate my birthday!" Mia grinned as both the older women began protesting, and Joseph's jaw dropped ominously.

"BAR-HOPPING?" He finally found his voice after clearing his throat a few times. "Your ... your Majesty?" Again his gaze was on Clarisse.

"Well, it IS her birthday ..." Clarisse spread her hands helplessly. "And I must admit, the idea has a certain amount of ... intriguing appeal."

"YOUR MAJESTY!" Charlotte gasped at the same time as Joseph almost roared it.

"Oh, tosh!" Clarisse waved away their well-meant concern and made an executive decision. "Very well, Mia, we'll all come. What can it hurt? We'll have our protection in you, Joseph. Shall we be off?"

"But, your Majesty ..." he sounded bewildered now.

"Yes, Joseph?" Clarisse looked at him somewhat impatiently. She was eager to get going on this outing in the hopes that they would be able to rush through a couple of bars and be home at a decent hour.

"You're going like THAT?" and he indicated her designer suit.

"Oh, no, Grandma, you CAN'T go like that! You need to wear jeans."

"Jeans?" Clarisse's voice held a faint distaste. "I'm afraid I don't have any jeans ..."

"Charlotte, you have a couple of pairs, don't you?" Mia turned to Charlotte. "I can sort of see Grandma not having any, but not YOU ..."

"Well, I ... yes ..." Charlotte admitted, scarlet flags on her cheeks. "Yes, I do have some jeans."

"Joe?" Mia turned to Joseph.

"Yes, your highness?"

"Do YOU have any jeans?" Mia ran a critical eye over his attire -- trademark black turtleneck and leather jacket and black trousers. "Preferably black ones? And a few chains? Then you'd look like a biker ... REALLY hot!"

Joseph grinned at her, ignoring Clarisse's faint gasp of outrage at her grand-daughter's choice of words and images and Charlotte's almost inaudible giggles. "I'll see what I can do, you highness. Shall we meet back here in, say, half an hour?"

"GREAT!" Mia grinned. "Come on, Grandma, we'll get dressed in Charlotte's room ... that's all right, isn't it, Charlotte?"

"Well, I ..."

"I was hoping you'd agree..." Mia interrupted Charlotte's stammered, half-hearted protest and grabbed her knapsack. "I brought my jeans with me. Come on ... lead the way, Charlotte!"

Still vainly protesting, Charlotte led them to her room upstairs. She rummaged in her closet and found two pairs of faded denim jeans. "I just wish they were nicer ones, your Majesty ... but at least they are clean."

"And they'll be softer than the new ones," Mia said. "Try them on, Grandma!"

Clarisse eyed the jeans, ran her eyes quickly over Charlotte's shorter, slighter frame, then looked down at herself and sighed. "I hardly think this will work."

"These are extra-long, Grandma ... see, Charlotte has been turning them up rather than cutting them off." Mia demonstrated.

"Maybe if I wore a girdle ..." Clarisse mused.

"We'll get you in them, Grandma, won't we, Charlotte? No girdle necessary!"

As she eased the jeans up over her hips, wiggling a little to adjust them, Clarisse shook her head again. "There is NO WAY these will do up!"

"Grandma, just lie down on the bed." Mia ordered.

"What?"

"Lie down," Mia said patiently. "Everything sort of falls back and you'll be able to get the zipper up if you really suck it all in."

"Charlotte, is my grand-daughter crazy, or am I?" Clarisse appealed to Charlotte who reddened again.

"Actually, your Majesty, she's right." Charlotte said.

Giving in, Clarisse lay down and, with some difficulty amid Mia's giggles and fumbling help, managed to do up the fly. Then she continued to lie there, feeling as though she had just been squished into a body cast from the waist down. "I don't think I can move," she said, "without splitting a seam."

Laughing, Charlotte and Mia both tugged her to her feet. "Just keep moving," Mia advised her. "They'll loosen up." Then she stood back and considered her grandmother. "Actually, those jeans ARE still too short. You're a real pipsqueak, Charlotte!" Even as Charlotte protested, Mia said, "Never mind. Grandma, we'll get your riding boots in a minute. They'll pass for really cool cowboy boots. If you tuck the jeans in, no one will notice they're so short. It's really a good thing you BROUGHT your boots to go riding, since I doubt Charlotte's would fit you. Now, do you have any cotton blouses?"

"I don't think so," Clarisse shrugged.

"Charlotte?"

"A couple of denim ones here, but ..." Charlotte pulled them out of her closet, blushing, "I ... I don't know if they'll fit your Majesty ..."

"I DO hope you're not saying I'm fat," Clarisse teased her.

Charlotte looked horrified, and Mia laughed. "No, just more ... ummm ... well-endowed? Here, try one on. It's roomy-looking."

Clarisse exchanged her silk blouse for the blue cotton one, and did up the snaps. The denim shirt gaped only a little.

"If you hunch your shoulders forward, the snaps'll stay closed," Mia giggled. "You know, Grandma ... you'll have to SCHLUMP tonight! No regal posture possible while you're slumming it ..."

Clarisse surveyed herself in the mirror. "I just need a red bandana," she muttered almost distastefully. Certainly this was NOT how a queen should ever appear in public! It was definitely a good thing no one would know her tonight, much like that other night ... the one other time she had worn jeans and a denim shirt that were a tad small for her ...

"Grandma?"

Suddenly Clarisse realized Mia had been trying to get her attention, and she dragged her thoughts back from the one incident in her past she had never shared with anyone. "Yes, Mia?"

"Charlotte and I are ready, but you still need your boots ..."

"I'll go get them and meet you both at the door," Clarisse said, picking up her discarded clothes. "Thank you for the loan of the clothes, Charlotte ... I DO hope I don't rip any seams tonight!"

"You aren't going to chicken out, are you, Grandma?" Mia asked suspiciously. "You ARE coming, aren't you?"

"Yes, Mia," Clarisse assured her. "I have said I will go with you, and I shall."

Clarisse made her way to her own suite, acknowledging that the jeans did appear to be loosening up a tiny bit as she moved. Again her thoughts went reluctantly to the evening, almost forty years earlier, when she had rebelled for the only time in her life and escaped the restrictive atmosphere of the palace and her arranged marriage. Since that time, she had buried the memories deep, feeling guilty for having experienced one of the most uplifting moments a woman could, knowing full well how wrong it had all been. Biting her lip, Clarisse again ruthlessly suppressed her recollections and accepted her lady's maid's assistance in putting on her boots. She smiled at the maid's somewhat askance expression at the queen's apparel, saying easily that she was indulging her grand-daughter for the evening. Then she walked down the stairs to meet the other three who were waiting by the door.

Joseph gravely handed her a bandana, saying that Mia had relayed her request for one, and she felt his eyes examine her figure, sensing the same faint disbelief she had noticed in her maid. Clarisse lifted her head and returned his gaze levelly for a moment, then she turned to the mirror and quickly tied the red bandana around her throat, allowing the ends to hide the snaps of the shirt which strained over her breasts.

"No limo tonight, please, Joe?" Mia begged.

"We certainly don't need to draw anyone's attention with THAT!" Clarisse said.

"I've called a cab, your Majesty, and I believe ... ah, yes, it's here." Joseph ushered the three women into the back seat and climbed in the front with the cab driver.

Before long, the four were walking cautiously into a bar in a busy part of town. Joseph found them a table and placed an order for four beer without asking. Charlotte made a funny sound in her throat, but shook her head when Mia looked at her inquiringly.

Clarisse leaned forward, her elbows on the table, her chin in her hands, and said quietly, "Forget who we are, Charlotte. Tonight we are just ordinary people ..."

"Grandma, YOU will never be ordinary!" Mia grinned. "Do you really drink beer?"

"I have," Clarisse admitted.

"I'd have thought champagne was more your style," Mia said. Joseph frowned slightly as he looked at Mia, then Clarisse, and the queen wondered what was going through his mind.

The bottles of beer and some glasses arrived. Mia picked up her bottle and a glass and, tilting the glass, began to carefully pour the beer in. Clarisse stared at her. "How did you know how to do that?"

"Do what?" Mia looked puzzled. "Pour a beer?"

"Tip the glass! You're not getting any foam!"

Mia laughed as she rolled her eyes. "Gee, Grandma, EVERYONE knows you can't just pour it straight!"

"Oh, I see." Clarisse debated following her grand-daughter's example, then changed her mind, remembering that she really hated the smell of beer. She put the bottle to her lips and tipped it up slightly, taking a sip and trying not to grimace as Charlotte was doing.

"I can see this is going to be a fun evening," Joseph spoke gravely again, his eyes laughing audaciously as he watched the three women.

Mia almost choked on her first mouthful when she heard that and started to laugh. "Be careful, Joe, or I'll laugh with my mouth full and spit it all over you!"

Two and a half hours and three bars later, Clarisse was ready to head back to the embassy. Blinking in the smoky atmosphere of the latest pub, she sipped the last of her beer and tuned into the music when Mia said, "I like this song! Listen to it, you guys!"

They all listened as Conway Twitty began to sing about a lady in 'Tight-fitting Jeans.' A peculiar expression crossed Clarisse's face, and a similar funny look appeared on Joseph's. Mia stared at them both. "What's the matter with YOU?"

"I ... I've heard a story similar to what he's singing, that's all," Clarisse tried to wave it off.

Joseph mumbled that that song had a special meaning for him ... "... and why did he have to sing it tonight ...?" Suddenly he stopped and stared at Clarisse, his wide eyes running over her figure once again.

"What?" she asked defensively, resisting the urge to cross her arms over her chest.

"It was YOU!" he burst out.

"What are you ...? Oh!" her eyes widened as she returned his stare. "You!"

Mia was instantly clamouring for answers, wanting to know what they were both talking about, but Joseph stood up and said, "I think we should have this dance, don't you, your ...?" his voice trailed off, as Clarisse stood up, nodding firmly, her eyes still incredulous.

As they swayed in time to the music, listening to the words of the song, Joseph said, softly, "You look just as lovely as you did nearly forty years ago ..."

She stumbled a bit. "I can't believe it was you that night ..."

"I know," he nodded. "I never forgot you, but didn't recognize you when I saw you again."

"Well, I WAS wearing a wig that night."

"WHY?"

"I was being ... stifled." she admitted. Then she changed the subject. "You know, this song seems really familiar. It's ... well, our story. If I didn't know better, I would almost say that you wrote them."

"Hmmm. I've heard it many times. I think of it as OUR song, a song for my Tiger-lady and I ..."

"Grrrr," Clarisse teased him softly. Closing her eyes, she rested her head on his shoulder and let the song carry her back to that night so long ago ...

Wearing a long, straight-haired wig and heavily made up, Clarisse snuck into one of the sleazier bars in Genovia, sure that no one would recognize the crown princess in the woman wearing denim bell bottoms which were tight-fitting around her hips and held up by a colourful sash. A matching sash was wound around her head, a denim shirt strained over her breasts, the ends tied below so that when she moved, a few inches of midriff showed.

A man accosted her almost as soon as she walked in. He had been talking to a friend in the corner and had seen her hesitating in the doorway. "Well, well, well, who do we have here?" he bowed mockingly.

Clarisse's glance skittered over him, circled the room, then settled back on him again. In spite of his rather rugged appearance, his piercing eyes appeared kind and sympathetic. She smiled, trying to ignore the nervous roiling in her stomach. "It's May," she said, lightly. "You know, that lively month when everyone goes astray? I'm out to enjoy it."

"I see," he eyed her again, then a slow smile blossomed. "A mystery lady."

"That's right."

"So you're not going to tell me your name, Mystery Lady?"

"Can't we just leave it a mystery?" she murmured.

He shrugged. "That's cool. As you wish, my queen."

Clarisse tensed immediately. "Why do you call me that?"

Again he shrugged. "No big deal. I just know you're not in your element here, that's all. I have to ask, though. What IS a woman like you doing here?"

"I don't know what you mean, a woman like me," she replied, twisting her fingers together.

"Well, frankly, I see you're used to champagne but I'll buy you a beer." he grinned.

Clarisse raised her chin defiantly. "I happen to LIKE beer ... sometimes. I suppose you think you've got me figured out, but I'm not what I seem."

"Now that I could have told you. I'll get the beer." He snagged a waitress going past and in moments the beer and glasses were at the table.

Clarisse picked her bottle up daintily and began pouring it into the glass, even as he lifted his bottle to his lips. Then she stared in horror at the frothy mass foaming up and over the side. "Oh, dear," she said, faintly. Obviously distastefully, she swiped at the liquid on the table with a handful of paper serviettes, then picked up the glass and tried to take a sip. Instead, she made a face.

"What's the matter? Don't like this brand?" he asked.

"Umm, yes, that's it. It's not my usual."

"I see. Just what IS your usual, my queen?" he smiled faintly.

Clarisse realized he didn't believe her, and panicked. She knew no kinds of beer! She only knew she couldn't drink the smelly froth in front of her. She just couldn't get it past her nose.

He took pity on her. "Here, it was probably colder than you expected." He took the glass from her, finished wiping the table and handed her back the bottle she had only half emptied. "Drink right from the bottle. It tastes better. Besides, that way you can't smell it."

"Is that why you drink straight from the bottle?" she asked, holding it as if it were a snake rather than a bottled drink.

"Yes, indeed!" he vowed. "Drink up, then tell me why you're wearing someone else's jeans and shirt."

Startled, Clarisse shot a look at him, then down at the bottle in her hand. Defiant again, she drained the bottle, and asked for another. When it came, she downed it as well. He watched her silently, and she could tell he was amused by her behaviour. Tossing her head, Clarisse said, "For a dance, I'll tell you about these tight-fitting jeans."

"You're sure you can move without them splitting?" he asked.

"Of course!" To prove it, she stood and swayed provocatively by his side. "See? Now, am I gonna get my dance, or another beer?" Deliberately Clarisse slurred her words and toned down her precise diction, moving to distract his mind from what she was saying to how she looked.

He looked bemused at the vision she presented, then stood up. "Both. Dance first, then another beer, then another dance. Fair enough?"

"Fair enough." Clarisse agreed, moving into his arms with grace and abandon. "I'll tell you about my jeans while we're drinking ..."

They danced, then sat down for more beer, then danced some more. In fact, they spent a few hours in each other's arms on the dance floor or seated across a small table drinking beer. Clarisse gradually lost some of her inhibitions and told him a bit of her story, admitting that she had married money. She deliberately misled him, making him think that although her marriage had ended, her former life of luxury meant that she was more used to wearing pearls than the bandana she currently sported. Not owning a pair of jeans, she had had to borrow a pair for tonight ...

"Couldn't you have at least taken a CLEAN pair?" he asked, eying a streak of mud up one calf.

Clarisse blushed. "I just grabbed them and ran," she admitted. "I'll have them washed before I take them back, of course."

"You grabbed them and ran?" he repeated, in a shocked tone. "You mean, you STOLE them?"

When she peeked at him, she saw the twinkle in his eyes and relaxed. Then she admitted that just for tonight she had wanted to live her dream, so she had left everything and everyone she knew behind.

"And now here you are, a lone scaredy-cat in tight-fitting jeans ..." His voice was gentle rather than mocking.

Clarisse flared up instantly, not realized he was teasing her. "I'm NOT a scaredy-cat! I'm ... I'm really a TIGER!"

"Hmmm, guess I'll have to be the judge of that," he murmured. "More beer?"

"Of course," she said, loftily. "I'm thirsty and it's warm in here."

"It's getting warmer by the moment," he said cryptically. "Better not drink too much ..." he added as she grabbed another bottle and took a big swig from it.

"Don't tell me how much I can drink!" she almost growled at him. "I don't take orders well."

"I can see that, my queen," he grinned again.

"I'm not a queen. I'm just a ... just an ordinary ... hippy," she said, finishing the bottle and standing up. "The music is starting. Let's dance again! I want to dance every dance I can."

He gravely agreed and this time, while they were dancing, he steered them into a smoky, secluded corner. As they swayed together, he said he knew just by looking at her that she wasn't ordinary and certainly wasn't a hippy.

"How?" demanded Clarisse. "How can you tell that? And maybe you shouldn't hold me so closely ..." she added nervously. "I can't concentrate when you do that!"

"We're both a bit nervous," he said, his breath on her mouth. "Concentrate on this, instead." His lips touched hers gently in a tender kiss, taking away her nervousness and replacing it with a yearning for more. She didn't realize he had backed her against the wall, out of sight of the other occupants of the bar. The pressure on her mouth remained light, teasing, and she fought a battle within herself. Part of her wanted to give in to him, part of her was urging her to break away, to get out. She moaned faintly with a mixture of pleasure and fear.

Then he drew back slightly. "I thought you said you've been married! Why are you responding like a virgin?"

Clarisse frowned. "What do you mean? I AM married! I have children to prove it ..." She stopped and closed her eyes. Why had she said that? Obviously the beer had gone to her head tonight! She didn't want any reminders of who she was in reality. Tonight she was playing a part ...

"Then let's try again."

His mouth grazed hers again with unbelievable tenderness, searching and exploring. Clarisse's mind went blank and unconsciously she pressed into him, her legs feeling too weak to support her. Her arms went around him, and she clung to him unashamedly as she gave him back kiss for kiss. Oh, Lord, how she wanted him ... this nameless stranger who made her feel more herself than she ever had been!

She barely noticed one of his hands sliding around her back, stroking her smooth skin exposed between the blouse and the top of her pants. She just felt warm and ... and oh, so wicked! The fondness that she and Rupert felt for each other never had had her so aroused as the emotions she was experiencing right now with this unknown man. What WAS it about him? She felt drawn to him as though he were a magnet ... she knew this must be how a moth felt, fluttering at the edges of a flame, terrified of being burned, but unable to resist the attraction. She moaned faintly again, trying to reject the unwanted desires taking over her body. His lips were demanding, seeking a similar response from her, and she unstintingly gave it.

"You ARE a tiger, my queen!" he groaned when she finally sagged against him, dragging in much-needed breaths of air.

"Oh ... oh, what have I done? What have I done?" Her thoughts were all chaotic.

"You have let your dreams come true ... for the one night. By some miracle, you have also allowed ME a chance to dream with you. Now you can go back to your world, and I'll go back to mine. But I'll never forget you, mystery lady ... queen of the dance in the tight fitting jeans!" When he was sure she was standing firmly on her own, he stepped back. "Good night, and good bye, Tiger Lady. Have a nice life."

Incredibly, he was gone. After giving her the most exhilarating experience in her entire life, he had just walked out on her. And yet ... they had only kissed and touched a little. Nonetheless, she was ashamed of herself for using him to make her momentarily forget the life in which she was irrevocably immured. Clarisse made her way back to the palace, sneaking in to her rooms, stripping off the denim clothes quickly, rolling them up and stuffing them deep in the closet along with the wig, then she stepped into the shower and scrubbed her face and her body clean, trying to rid herself of her guilt at the same time. She would NEVER try to act like that again!

It had taken months before she had felt comfortable with Rupert, and years before she had managed to suppress the memories of the utter delight she had found in the stranger's arms. She had accomplished that suppression so well that she had never noticed when the stranger, JOSEPH, had come back into her life!

"Your majesty?" he whispered now. "My queen?"

She looked at him, tears shining in her eyes. "I've just been reliving that night."

He understood, as he always had, and, she was convinced, as he always would. "I know. I was, too. I can't believe I never recognized you until tonight. Consciously, at least. Subconsciously is another matter."

"Yes," Clarisse agreed. She had always felt comfortable with him, had always been inexplicably drawn to him. Now she knew why.

Joseph again managed to manoeuver them into a secluded corner.

"You're still as good at this as you were that night," she whispered, smiling at him almost shyly.

Unhurriedly, Joseph brought his fingers up to her face and ever so gently ran them across the bridge of her nose, lightly caressing each tiny freckle. Then his hands slid around her neck and slowly he brought her face closer to his, rubbing his chin against her cheek as he whispered, "And you are still in your gilded cage, vainly beating your wings against the bars to get out and live your dream, my Tiger-lady."

Clarisse's first instinct was to pull away, but she couldn't. Instead, she leaned into his touch, wanting to freeze this moment so that she would remember it always. He slid his arms around her and drew her closer still. Fire ignited and the old familiar longing, the one she had deliberately ignored for years, began to course through her. She belonged in this man's arms. Feeling his hands sliding into the back pockets of her jeans, she drew in a deep breath and he leaned back just enough to look her in the eye.

"Joseph ...?" his name fell from her lips in a breathless gasp.

"Do I stop?" he asked quietly, not releasing her, and her gaze focussed dazedly on his lips.

She wanted his kiss, wanted his touch, and no one knew them here ... In a flash, her arms went around his waist, and her hands were delving into his back pockets, her fingers flexing on the taut muscle of his rear. "Not unless you want this 'tiger in tight-fitting jeans' to rip you to shreds ..." she whispered throatily.

"Oh, Clarisse ..." His lips were at her ear, and as he spoke, the cool brush of air sent delicious shivers in every direction.

She tightened her arms around him, and turned her face so that her lips were just barely touching his. "I love it when you say my name in such a sexy tone ..." she breathed inaudibly.

"How do you always know exactly what to do and say to inflame me?" was his next husky question.

"It just comes naturally," she managed to murmur before he kissed her, deeply and passionately. Clarisse could have sworn that the world stood still. Their surroundings disappeared into a vapour of desire. She would have given him anything in that moment...

But he eased away, regretfully running his hands over her denim-clad curves. He breathed again, a sigh that was either unspeakable pleasure or regret. "If we don't stop this now, I won't be able to stop at all, and much as I want to, I will not take advantage of you. It isn't right, Clarisse. I'm afraid I've already gone too far, but I must say, I haven't enjoyed a dance so much in my entire life. Except maybe that first night we danced."

"You say you've gone too far ... I have to wonder if you've gone far enough. Joseph, I ..." her voice broke.

"No, don't say any more. Not now. Not until you're ready to commit yourself to me." He sighed once more and stepped back, now just holding her hands. "Mia and Charlotte will be looking for us."

"I don't deserve you, Joseph," she whispered, longingly.

He chuckled. "Probably not. Just as I don't deserve you. But I'd hazard a guess that neither one of us has any say in the matter. Not now."

"You're right."

"Now, Tiger-Lady, it is time you became my queen again," his eyes caressed her, and she felt the heat surge through her again.

Closing her eyes and gathering her strength, Clarisse straightened up then looked at him directly as she eased her hands from his. "Thank you, Joseph. For everything. Always and forever."

"Grandma! Joe! I couldn't figure out where you two had disappeared to!" Mia was suddenly beside them, her face alight with laughter. "Isn't this a blast?"

"You could say that," Clarisse turned and smiled at her grand-daughter, still very conscious of the man now the correct two paces behind her. "Can we leave yet?"

"Oh, Grandma, you just don't like the music!" Mia pouted. Then she grinned again. "Charlotte can't stand the smoke. She said her eyes are watering so hard she can't see anything."

"Then we should leave. Have we celebrated your birthday enough, your Highness?" Joseph inquired politely.

"I guess so," agreed Mia. "I'll get Charlotte and meet you by the door," and she was gone.

"Your Majesty?" Joseph spoke in an undertone to Clarisse, indicating the door.

"Yes ..." Clarisse's gaze went involuntarily to the secluded corner where once again Joseph had managed to draw her heart from her body, then she looked at him, the anguish clearly revealed in her blue eyes.

"Our secret ... always and forever." he vowed. "And one day, our dream will finally come true."

O o O o O o

When Joseph requested Conway Twitty's "Tight-Fittin' Jeans" at their wedding dance a few years later, both Mia and Charlotte grinned, remembering that night in San Francisco. Neither knew how true that song was for Clarisse and Joseph, nor did anyone else ever hear the real story. It was indeed a delicious lover's secret, kept always and forever by the man who 'once had a millionaire's dream' and his Tiger-lady 'wearin' tight fittin' jeans.'


End file.
